Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  She yelped in surprise when she felt the pad of his finger circle the delicate skin of her asshole. He kissed the top of her ass.

  “Relax,” he said.

  “That area isn’t clean.”

  A glass of water with a lime on the rim sat on his bedside table. Lucie saw it the same moment that Kai did. He smiled as he leaned over and pulled the cut lime out and held it over her backside, then squeezed it over the small space where her cheeks came together, letting the juice slip down the valley of her asscheeks. She shivered when she felt a drop rest at the raised pucker of her ass and threaten to keep going, before she felt a hot breath and then the tickle of a tongue licking it off.

  “Tastes perfectly clean to me,” he murmured. He stuck two fingers in his mouth. Then he returned them to her ass, increasing the pressure of his massage until he fit two fingers in her.

  “Yes, clean, good,” she sighed. “So good.”

  Kai made a careful exploration of her asshole, pausing when her breath hitched and rubbing the same places over and over again when she moaned.

  “Please,” she said again. This time, her voice sounded out loud and clear. She felt Kai remove his fingers. She whined, turned around and reached behind her to guide him in again, but he pushed her hand away. Soon, there was a larger sensation of a cock pressing slowly into her slick, wet opening.

  “Please, what?” he asked. But Lucie’s words clamored in her mouth and grew lost among her moans. He eased in farther and any coherent sentences she might have uttered erased themselves from her mind. The sounds that came out were not meant for his understanding, but to affirm the pleasure she felt. She was showing him how she wanted to be fucked with the way her legs spread for him and the way she reached around to pull him closer, so his breaths fell shallowly against her neck.

  “You have to tell me what you want,” he commanded, slowing his pace and punctuating each word with a hard thrust. She liked the way his cock hit her walls like a clapper against a bell, ringing her with a slow vibration. His force against her was direct, strong and sustained. The current of sensation that passed between them concentrated on the places they connected; it moved freely between her clit and a spot deep within her. It swirled at her core, growing stronger with each brush through.

  The filter between her mind and mouth grew lax. There was no conscious decision to say one thing or another; what came out was a ceaseless babbling as her pleadings and moans ran together, reverberating against the walls as her cries filled the room and punctuated by a sudden stillness when her body reached a point beyond her control. In that still place, their limbs, following her words, entwined together. It was a full embrace of bodies. No space was left untouched between them, creating a perfect alignment of casual asymmetry. They fell asleep that way, wrapped in a sheen of sweat and stickiness.

  The next morning, Lucie woke up to a lime, lying green and sharp in a glass of water, and a note letting her know that there was fresh ceviche waiting for her in the kitchen.

  ON HIS KNEES

  Eve Pendle

  Apart from the marriage proposal, it was an entirely usual Sunday afternoon.

  “Be your wife?” Rosina echoed incredulously as they walked toward the cliffs of Lyme Regis. There hadn’t been any ceremony in his question. It was as though he viewed it as normal, like querying whether she wanted the plain edge of a fossil chipped off, or informing her of mud on her wide petticoat hem, before he knelt to brush it.

  His gaze lowered and he didn’t reply, instead adjusting her bag of trowels, hammers and other fossil-hunting accoutrements on his back. The movement drew her gaze to his large, muscular frame underneath his clothes. He looked particularly handsome today in a navy frock coat, starched white cravat and top hat, all tailored to fit him perfectly.

  Still wearing his Sunday best, she suddenly realized. Usually he changed into rougher, working clothes in order to accompany her after morning service.

  “What made you wish to marry at this time, Mr. Hamilton?” she asked, evading the real issue. The idea of a marriage between them was fanciful. He was her hired man, and she was the respectable widow of a gentleman.

  It had been two years since her mourning had ended and she’d approached him, the foreman of the local quarry. She’d asked if one of his men needed a little money and would accompany her on fossil-hunting trips. He’d looked her up and down and said that he wasn’t so well paid that he would say no to extra.

  Every Sunday afternoon since, he had obediently carried her rocks and tools. Watching him always set her pulse racing, an instinctive response to a gorgeous male carrying heavy objects for her.

  “I’ve been promoted to quarry overseer,” he said, and when he glanced across at her, she could see in his eyes all the pride of that statement. “It was announced on Friday.”

  “Congratulations,” she said, her voice faint. Her legs suddenly felt heavy. A manager’s wage meant he definitely did not need the few pennies she paid him to be her hired brawn on his day off. And he couldn’t be her husband. The space between minor gentry and working class was a sheer, crumbling cliff face. But beyond that, her need to dominate was a padlocked steel door.

  All week she anticipated having Jasper’s strength at her command, his capable hands there to catch her and clever blue eyes watching. His amiability at being led while they worked naturally encouraged illicit thoughts of bidding him to do other tasks. But she’d always known it was as likely as bringing a dinosaur fossil back to life that he would accept her controlling him intimately.

  “I will have the means to have a household of my own and employ a couple of maids to keep the house in order,” he continued. “I was thinking of purchasing Briar Cottage, by the river.”

  She glanced across at him. He was looking straight ahead at the horizon, not at her. Neither of them could fail to understand the significance of his statement. A house of his own and servants were the trappings of a middle-class, respectable man. He had scaled the rock face of class and stood before the impassable door.

  There was a tug on her heart. She could see the two of them outside Briar Cottage, his arm around her, their children splashing in the water.

  She needed more than that. The intoxicating feeling of giving direction and it being followed was essential to her, including in bed. Having seen the beauty of a strong man bowing to her will, she couldn’t bind herself to a man who wouldn’t use his passion to submit to her.

  Jasper reached the gate at the edge of the field before her, opening it wide so she could walk through in comfort. A bold sweep of blue spread before her and she stopped, drinking in the sight of the sea. Behind her, she heard Jasper close the gate then pause at her shoulder, half a step behind. She turned her head to find he was watching her, eyes full of unconcealed hope.

  It was too much. She looked back at the sea.

  He liked her well enough to make his outrageous marriage proposal, just on the basis of Sunday afternoons. If he had the courage to propose marriage, surely she had courage enough to reveal her true self?

  “If I were to marry again, I would need some assurances.” Her blood hit against the constriction of her corset.

  “Anything.” His voice was husky and full of promise that made her stomach molten.

  “Do you wish to marry me enough to take a little test?” Her heart quaked as she said the words, but her voice came out unflustered.

  “Yes,” he said immediately. He had always followed her commands unfailingly, but when had his voice begun to contain that firmness of certainty?

  “Let’s go this way today.” She indicated left, toward a smaller path they didn’t usually take.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Oh. Oh, the way he said that. The honorific sent a shiver of desire through her. He didn’t ask why she was suggesting a path that led to a tiny secluded beach with no fossils in its cliffs. He simply obeyed.

  The act of walking had never seemed erotic to her before, but the physicality of the thin fabric betwee
n her legs and the rustle of his jacket as he moved were now unbearably arousing. Once the path narrowed and they couldn’t walk side by side, at her gesture, he went ahead.

  Watching him move, Rosina noticed things she’d never allowed herself to revel in before. The delicious curve of his bottom under his wool trousers, the broad pane of his back, the gentle curl of hair at his nape, made for a woman’s touch.

  They descended the path on the beach, then their boots were crunching on the shingle and sand and his pace slowed and he turned to her, standing and waiting for her to tell him what she wanted.

  She took her time regarding him, the impossibly wide shoulders, the few freckles on his nose that made him appear young. The prominent bulge in his trousers where he was evidently hardening. His forehead had the slightest sheen from the summer warmth, and her mouth watered with the desire to lick it.

  “Get onto your knees.”

  The tiniest hint of a smile crossed his face before he dropped to one knee. He paused there for a second, throwing the sack of tools to the side, gaze unwavering from her face. Then he shifted so he was on both knees, as she’d commanded, and Rosina felt the heat from her belly flood into her breasts and down between her legs.

  She walked around him, her wide skirts almost touching the edge of his neatly turned out trousers. A mere twitch of her eyebrows and he took off his hat, placing it aside, revealing the unfamiliar top of his head, his thick chestnut hair in a fashionable sweep.

  “Undo your trousers,” she ordered him.

  He held her gaze as he slowly moved his hands to his waist. She followed the movement. It was obvious he was swollen with the beginnings of lust. Hope clogged her throat. She watched, her mouth watering with anticipation, as he undid the buttons on his trousers, revealing the white cotton of his underclothes.

  “Ma’am?” He was slightly breathless, and it sent a bolt of longing through her, from chest to navel.

  “Go on. Touch yourself.”

  “I’d rather touch you, Ma’am.” He said he’d do anything, but there was no deference in his tone.

  She pierced him with a look of authority as his blue eyes fought her. Then his lashes dropped, and Rosina felt a smile stretching her mouth.

  As she watched, he reached down. His cock was even harder now. Hard and wanting and her heart skipped as he brought his hand around to brush his fingers against the ridge, still covered by white cotton.

  “Like this,” he asked, his breath coming out unevenly.

  “Yes. More. Uncover yourself.” She wanted to see the velvet of his skin as he jerked himself.

  His hand slipped up to undo the buttons of his smalls, then the fabric was pushed aside and his palm stroked over the head of his engorged member.

  She squirmed. Walking around him, she examined him from all angles as his palm slid over his member, gradually increasing in speed.

  “Stop.”

  His hand stilled instantly, though his forearm was shaking a little. “Ma’am?”

  “Take off your coat.”

  A second’s hesitation, then he took his hand from his cock and shrugged off his jacket. He was fully revealed to her now. Proud and thick as she had ever seen and the sight made her mouth water. She could imagine the feel of it in her mouth, stretching her cheeks as she slid it in and out, driving him demented with the pleasure of her soft throat. So good.

  “And your shirt,” she commanded, not taking her eyes from his upright dick. A bead of precome beaded on the tip. As though in answer, a momentary beat of pleasure went through her clitoris.

  He was the most wonderful present she’d ever received, unexpected and perfect. She had always appreciated her handsome assistant, but kept a tight hold on any potential erotic thoughts, sure they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

  As he opened up the white linen of his shirt, he revealed a chest sprinkled with mahogany-colored hair from his defined pectorals in an uneven line down to the dense hair around his magnificent cock. His naked skin and pushed-down trousers and underclothes made a lewd tableau against the backdrop of the calm sea and azure sky.

  She was slippery between her legs now. Her bud was tingling and begging for attention beyond the slick movement as she walked around him.

  This was a greater test. He’d done well so far, but would he do this? She was desperate, enticed from the look of him, naked to the thighs, kneeling.

  Deliberately she sauntered around to stand directly in front of him, blood tingling in every orifice, then ran her hands down her dress, across the swell of her breasts, the flat pane of her stomach and down, over her skirt.

  He moaned.

  She grasped the hem of her skirts and crinolines, pulling them all up to reveal her drawers. Her drawers were open at the crotch, allowing easy access to the throbbing, soaked place between her legs. She ached for the feel of him, hot and hard inside her. But first.

  “Lick me.” She had no sooner given the order than he fell forward into her, one hand feeling around her legs to grab her bottom and pull her to his wet mouth.

  His tongue found her almost immediately, licking at her nub with long, sure movements. She looked down at her skirts scandalously pulled up, Jasper’s head between her spread legs. His tongue was insistent, regularly circling over her clitoris, unrelenting. She was already aroused, close to the edge. The firm, wet rhythmic rolling of his tongue spiraled her upward.

  It was too quick and too much. She grasped on to the back of his head, holding on to his silky hair as his tongue unrelentingly pushed feeling into her core. The pleasure burst in a sudden white flash. Her inside muscles pulsed against nothing. Want for his fingers, or better still, his cock deep in her while she came, almost overwhelmed her.

  As the sensation receded, she found her hands had slipped and she was gripping the soft back of his neck, nails dug into his skin to steady herself. It left red marks when she loosened her fingers. She felt a possessive thrill of satisfaction that he might see those scratches in the mirror that evening and remember this moment.

  He’d moved his head back to look up at her, eyes wide and darkened, pupils dilated. She became aware of the feel of his left hand, still holding her buttocks. His other hand was on his cock, sliding up and down, revealing and covering the reddened head.

  Want spread through her anew.

  There was every reason not to take this any further. What they’d done together so far showed his willingness to submit to her, to some extent. With him inside her brought the risk of pregnancy. But desire, pent up and denied for so long, was stronger than logic. She had to know what it was like to have him and whether he could let her lead, even when he was fucking her.

  So she held his shoulders and allowed herself to slip downward, her body next to his until they were face-to-face, on their knees.

  When she reached down and grasped his swollen member and brought him toward her with it, his breath caught in a gasp. He was hot silk over stone beneath her fingertips, and she wanted him inside her. At the same time, his hands came up and dexterously undid the line of buttons down the front of her dress, frantically parting her chemise to reveal her breasts, loosened from her corset.

  Holding her gaze, he leaned his mouth down to her nipples, and his onslaught sent shocks of pleasure through her. She arched back to give him better access to her body and reveled in his worship and the careful pressure he exerted on her breasts, neither too much nor too little.

  She had to know. Tightening her fingers around his cock in insistence, she told him, “Now.”

  They were a tangle of limbs and her clothing, her thighs over his and arms across each other’s. Refusing to relinquish her hold on his hardness didn’t help, but he was hers and she wouldn’t let him go.

  When they were chest to chest, Rosina’s back on sand, their bare legs protected by the fabric of her petticoats and skirt, she guided him to her entrance. He held there above her, his cock against her slickness, braced on arms she wouldn’t be able to span with her hand, waiting for her appro
val.

  “Yes,” she instructed him, tilting up her hips as he surged forward into her wetness. It was a sudden invasion, stretching her tightness out. He was scorching and thick and he was oh, oh, so good.

  “More,” she said, pressing upward to bring him deeper, so that her clit rubbed against him.

  Slowly, he obeyed, thrusting deep and steady at first, then at her whispered urges, faster and longer, with a solid rhythm. The feel of him deep inside her was that of a long-forgotten satisfaction, so much more than that which her fingers could do on their own. The push of his width on the sensitive spot inside her and the brush of his skin on her clitoris forced incoherent words from her mouth.

  He lowered his head to hers, and their lips met in a gentle kiss that immediately deepened, their mouths opening to each other. This was the first time, she realized. No sweet first kiss on her hand, or chastely on her face. Immediately it was a frenetic kiss, tangling tongues and knocking teeth. Not pretty or elegant, but passionate and messy. His lips were cool compared to the burning heat of his cock inside her and the fine roughness of his stubble rubbed on her cheek.

  He was a big man and he was doing her bidding, and that thought chased arousal down her torso. She was so close. Just a little more and she would tip over.

  “Harder.” Reaching around, she dragged her fingernails across his buttocks and he gasped in response.

  “Yes,” he whispered, shifting his face into the crook of her neck, pounding into her. She smoothed her palm across the straight ridges she’d made in his skin. It was beyond her to resist the temptation to touch him. The smoothness of his skin called out for her.

  His wide cock pushed against that sensitive place inside her, while his hand inserted between their bodies. He stroked her from the outside and inside simultaneously, a sensation almost too good, too much, mounting pleasure in her. Just a little more, just a spike to push her over the edge.